


let me be your singing chords

by mintpearlvoice



Category: The Wicked + The Divine
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 22:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4366058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintpearlvoice/pseuds/mintpearlvoice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>laura wilson hits ananke in the head with her crappy phone and runs for it. featuring discussions of mental illness, laura's martyr complex, and vague background f/f.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me be your singing chords

**Author's Note:**

> it's really late at night and i dont even know what im doing anymroe

Laura is hyper-alert of the way her T-shirt falls against her body, the weight of her curls against her neck, her own quick hot breath. But then Luci squeezes her eyes shut, trying so hard to keep it together, and all that awareness shifts to her. She grabs Luci's hand, those long pale fingers all guitar-player calluses and scabbed-up elegance.  
"It's going to be okay. We're going to be okay."  
Luci pulls away. The fire-blue eyes that meet hers are dry only through constant effort. "You tell a damn good lie, kid."  
"Hey, if you need to? Use me as a human shield and keep on running."  
"I really hate to break it to you, but you're not white enough for that to work."  
"Then we try it anyway. Worst comes to worst, I soak up a few bullets and buy you some time."  
That's not what Luci was expecting to hear. The cigarette slips from her fingers; almost unconciously, she grinds it into the living-room carpet. She doesn't look like a rocker or a sovreign of hell. All her charisma has fallen away with that one spark of ash; she's nineteen and scared and startled. "Laura," she murmurs, and the syllables linger as if she's forgotten how to speak. Her grasp twitches at the air, a wounded owlet.  
In that moment Laura wants her and is lost in wanting her. She wants to drape the Lord of Flies in her army jacket and breathe warmth into her pallid cheeks. Except she doesn't have the words for saying it, knows she lacks the voice for singing it. Religion cuts through her love, a glorious fire. I would be your martyr. My life would mean something. My death would mean evertything.  
So she just chews her lower lip a little, squaring off her shoulders. "I fucking mean it. If you get to keep singing, whatever happens to me- I'm fucking glad."  
A dozen emotions pass across her marble face. Her eyes settle on softening; she sleeve-smudges blood off her sharp cheekbones. This time it's Luci who locks her fingers through Laura's. "To the Underworld?"  
"Take me down."

In the instant they dash out the back door, Luci freezes. Her body stiffens like she's grasped an electric fence. A ragged little breath stabs at her throat.  
And Laura's gaze darts to-  
Ananke, draped in her customary spiderweb lace, a smile embroidered on her papery lips. She smells like an antique store. She is the floral wallpaper in a funeral home.  
Luci says something. Ananke says something back, her tone infinitely soothing, calmer, older, wiser. Great-Grandmother Knows Best.  
Laura cannot hear individual words over the blood pumping in her ears like sap through every tree in every park.  
This is how Ananke wins, how she has won for centuries: she makes victory inevitable. Hers, of course. You are so very young and small, her powers say. What you are attempting has never been tried; it will never succeed. History entombs you alive in concrete. Nothing you do will ever matter. All of life will fade into decay and darkness. The world is so old.  
"…and your friend?"  
Laura feels Ananke's eyes on her. She thinks she sees what Ananke sees. A seventeen-year-old girl with a soft, frightened face, chipped nailpolish on a desperately clutching hand. Pathetic and human. Someone who'll never be famous no matter how badly she wants it.  
Someone who will never matter.  
All Laura can think about is this: she let her parents clean out her room before she came back from the hospital but there's hiding places they don't know about- she's got one razor blade wrapped up in butcher paper at the very back of her underwear drawer. If she ran up right now, stripped off all of the clothes she's too dumpy to wear, how much flesh could she get at- how deep could she cut- if she ran into the bathroom, still damp with blood, and jammed her fingers down her throat, went running skipped dinner god she could get so small so fast, so small, so quiet, maybe fate will pass her by-  
Luci shoves her. Hard. She places her body between maiden and crone. Blood drops freely from her nose, but her eyes blaze. "Please-" Her voice is quiet, weak. When she tries again, it's bigger. "I know what you're doing, Ananke. But she's human. I'm the one you want, aren't I? Just take me and go."  
Ananke considers this for a moment. At last she smiles like a glacier breaking. She nods and somewhere mountains fall. Slowly, she raises one gloved hand-  
Except Laura is the angriest she's ever been in her entire fucking life. And you don't claw yourself out of depression with a rope knotted from ticket stubs and slam poetry without getting really good at angry. Her fingers close around her cracked phone. She throws as fiercely as she can.  
Okay. So gods, unless performing, are invulnerable to bullets. But it's kind of hard to ignore an Android phone hitting you in the forehead at top Londoner speed.  
Her fingers click-  
The metal missile finds its mark-  
Luci doubles over in pure agony as burgundy bleeds into white-  
And Ananke falls over, eyes closing.  
Jesus fucking christ did I just kill an old lady. Did I just seriously reconsider not killing myself, are we, am I. There are so many things for Laura to think about and all of them start with Fuck, Fucking Fuck.  
So instead of thinking she rips her coat off, drapes it over Luci, and tugs her along, doing her best to shut her ears to Luci's pained groans.  
Hopefully the Morrigan will still let them crash.


End file.
